


Restaurant AU

by redwoodroots



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Angie McGucket is an OC created by HeidiMelone, Fluff, I'm just borrowing it for fluff, and Stan needs family, restaurant AU, she's Fiddleford's brother, soft, stan and angie run a restaurant, therefore let there be fluff, they're a big family - Freeform, this is heidimelone's AU, this is thelastspeecher's AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-21
Updated: 2020-01-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:27:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22354069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redwoodroots/pseuds/redwoodroots
Summary: Angie McGucket comes into the restaurant early one morning to discover that Stan Pines is asleep on the floor of his office...because this is where he's been living all this time.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 20





	Restaurant AU

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HeidiMelone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeidiMelone/gifts).



> The characters of the McGucket family were created by the talented thelastspeecher (HeidiMelone). You can find plenty more of these OC's in xier other works!

Angie didn’t bother knocking on the door, she was running a few minutes late anyway. If she didn’t get the bread started they wouldn’t have fresh garlic sticks for the morning rush, and she knew for a fact her garlic sticks were half the reason their morning customers rolled out of bed. She shoved her key in the back door and wrestled the rusty lock open.

“Stan?” she called out, striding to the kitchen. The place was dark, everything was off, and Stan was nowhere in sight. She flicked on the coffee makers, cranked the ovens and double-checked the temperature on the fridge – after that incident with the ice she could swear it was haunted, but this morning the gauge trembled fearfully under her glare. “Good,” she told it. “Now behave, and I’ll let you drop two degrees when we close tonight. Capiche?”

The gauge flicked briefly to cold and back again. 

She cracked a grin, then hurried to the office. It wasn’t like Stan to be late but she’d have to call him and get started on those garlic rolls herself. At least the recipe was quick. She’d just throw her stuff on Stan’s desk, call him, and get to work. And boy would he get an earful when he finally got in! 

She flicked on the office light, crossed the floor to the desk – and stopped short. 

Stan’s rolling chair had been pushed to the corner, and Stan was lying on the floor behind the desk, sound asleep. His head was pillowed on his arms, that ratty maroon jacket was sprawled over his shoulders, and there was only a thin threadbare blanket between him and the floor. He’d kicked his shoes off, at least, but it looked cold and uncomfortable.

“Stan?” she called quietly. She couldn’t remember any extra paperwork, but maybe he’d had to stay late to finish invoicing or something. She leaned over the desk. “Stan, are you…”

At this angle she caught sight of a small storage cubicle stuffed under the desk, where people would normally put a trash can. The unit had deodorant, a razor blade, toothpaste, a toothbrush, nail clippers, a hand towel, a change of socks, and, weirdly, a monster mask. Piled next to it was a mound of clothes, way more than a couple of day’s worth. It was like looking into someone’s bedroom. 

_Is he…_ living _here?_

A chirp from the ovens made her jump. They’d finished preheating and were ready for the garlic sticks. She hesitated. She really could use his help, but…

“You’re gonna owe me for this, Pines,” she muttered. She set her things down on his desk, quietly, then went to the supply closet. Fiddleford had made them get an emergency preparedness kit after watching one too many documentaries on hurricanes and earthquakes. The kit included a fire blanket, one specially engineered by her brother to be resistant to pretty much everything but nuclear warfare. It was also toasty and soft as kitten breath. 

She pulled it out, stepped very quietly around the desk and draped the blanket over Stan, tucking him in snugly around the shoulders all the way down to his feet. She was just shifting to get up when Stan mumbled a little in his sleep, then curled up on the floor. Something in his face looked softer now. Younger. Her heart ached. 

_Nope! Banjolina McGucket, you march yourself to the kitchen this instant and get started on those garlic sticks. You do not have a soft spot for a man who cheats at carnival games and rigs the juke box to play only his favorite songs. Nope, nope, nope._

She sprang to her feet and strode firmly to the kitchen. Eggs, flour, salt, butter, garlic, parsley, fresh lemons for a zing of citrus zest. She had the dough kneaded and the sticks twisted in under twenty minutes, and as soon as the first batch was in she started on the coffee. She absolutely did not think about Stan Pines sleeping on the floor of his office for who knew how long. Or the way the shadows in his face had slipped away when she’d tucked him in. Why hadn’t he just used the blanket in the first place? Hadn’t anyone taught him how to take care of himself? Hadn't anyone ever noticed? Or was he just that good at hiding it?

“We are _definitely_ talking about it later,” she said aloud. The haunted thermostat clicked in agreement.

**Author's Note:**

> If you want more fresh-baked Stangie goodness, the great and powerful Speecher has written a follow-up ficlet for this one! [Check it out reblog it love it forever!](https://thelastspeecher.tumblr.com/post/190408724466/restaurant-au)


End file.
